


Drinking Contests and a Realization

by antukini



Series: sleepy does camp nano april 2020 [20]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Drinking, Feelings Realization, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, for both madatobi and izutoka, holy shit it got really sweet by the end, the senju have a drinking contest tradition for all their parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23755555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antukini/pseuds/antukini
Summary: Madara finds out how a sloshed Tobirama acts.(He's not entirely sure how he survives the evening.)
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara, Senju Touka/Uchiha Izuna
Series: sleepy does camp nano april 2020 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686649
Comments: 29
Kudos: 423





	Drinking Contests and a Realization

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fill for anonymous on tumblr who requested: Prompt: ya know people always said how different hashi and tobi is. But what they didnt know is how cuddly and huggy drunk tobi can be, just like his anija. And while madara still think of them as frenemy, drunk!tobi is just too cute to resist.
> 
> they’re less antagonistic in this one than what anon probably wanted but tadaaaaa
> 
> my titling skills are shit i'm so sorry
> 
> …how did this grow to 2k i thought it would be around 700 at most

_“It would be fun, Madara,”_ he’d said. _“Maybe you and Tobira will finally bond! He’s much more relaxed with some umeshu in him, you’ll see!”_

Sitting in a corner, away from the chaos in the middle of the room—miracle of miracles—, Madara could admit that Hashirama was right, at least partially, but only to himself. He sips from his cup and lets himself observe from afar. He’s not sure he wants to get involved in all that stupidity just yet.

Izuna sits at a table across Touka, numerous bottles of liquor ready beside the table on the floor and five cups already filled with liquor in two lines in between them. Two Senju are seated beside them, near the bottles on the floor, on the ready to refill the emptied cups.

Multiple Senju clansmen in varying states of inebriation, with the rare Uchiha between—most of them chose to sit near the walls and away from the chaos, they aren’t as enthusiastic with alcohol as their Senju counterparts—, are crowded around the pair, curious about the outcome of the first public drinking contest between a Senju and an Uchiha.

The bets being exchanged throughout the room about the outcome doesn’t escape Madara’s notice. He huffs in amusement behind his cup.

Izuna’s face wears a fierce look, disguising the faint shaking in his hands. Probably nervous and excited to impress his crush.

Touka is as lazily confident and dangerous as ever, a challenging smirk on her lips and a daring look in her eyes as they waited for the slightly drunk overseer to signal them to start.

The room suddenly turns quiet, all eyes fixated on the spectacle in the center of the room.

“GO!”

They immediately tip their cups and chug in tandem, Touka noticeably faster than Izuna. Alcohol starts pouring to refill the emptied cups as they go through them in quick succession.

Not even two minutes in and eight cups emptied, Izuna is already behind by one drink.

Madara absentmindedly hopes Izuna took a snack before he had challenged Touka. He knew his brother can hold his liquor but a Senju’s alcohol tolerance more than likely outstrips his.

They collectively finished two bottles before Izuna couldn’t take it anymore, cup slamming on the wood of the table before his head tips and his face crashes on the tabletop as well.

“Touka-sama wins!” The overseer raises his hand holding her hand and the partygoers around them cheer, Touka shouting with them with a ferally satisfied twist on her features.

Bloody Senju and their bloody tolerance for alcohol. He’d be worried if he hadn’t been witness to a Senju drinking party once when he had been on his way to Tobirama’s house for work, during a morning no less.

That was when he found out that the entirety of the Senju clan had a certain penchant for alcoholic beverages and that it is tradition to have a table reserved for drinking contests in the middle of the party area after he’d offhandedly commented about what he’d seen to the white-haired man.

He’d thought only Hashirama had the ability to chug entire bottles and that the Senju all had sticks shoved up their asses through their throats that disallowed them from such behavior. Turned out it was a clan thing, who knew.

He is dragged out of his thoughts when a familiarly large and tan hand lands on his shoulder. He does notice Izuna getting dragged to a seat by Hikaku to recover before he fully turns his attention to Hashirama.

“Touka won again!” Hashirama laughs, the sound loud and deep enough to reach Madara’s bones. He ignores Madara’s attempts at shoving the hand off his shoulder. “Wanna drink with me?”

“And make a fool of myself?” Madara huffs and stops trying to shove him off, accepting that it was futile. “I know how much you can put away, Hashirama. I still remember you challenging me and me accepting so fuck off. Where’s your wife? She should come to collect her manchild before he makes a spectacle of himself.”

The resulting hangover after that particular evening was the worst he’d had to date. He’s not keen on repeating the experience.

Hashirama pouts. “But I wanted to drink with someone! And Mito left me to chat with Kiyoko.”

The supposedly respectable Senju Clan Head flaps a hand to his left, directing his gaze to the two women chatting peacefully, calmly unruffled by the chaos around them. The lout flops to the side—away from Madara, thankfully. But then he suddenly brightens up when he spots someone in another corner of the room.

“Tobirama!” Hashirama calls.

Said white-haired man only opts to raise a brow in question, head turned away from the Hyuga he had been talking about work with for the past half hour.

_No_ , Madara hadn’t been watching him since he arrived. How ludicrous a thought.

Hashirama excitedly waves his arm for his brother to come over, an eager and pleading expression on his face.

Tobirama visibly sighs before he turns to his conversation partner before heeding his brother’s request and heading over. Madara admits, if only to himself, that Tobirama fills out his well-tailored clothing well, broad shoulders and solid build emphasized by the trim of his kimono, the collar enticing the eye to admire the Senju’s pale throat.

Madara snaps himself out of his train of thought when the white-haired man stopped in front of them.

“What is it, anija?” Tobirama looks down at them as they sat, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and a brow raised.

Hashirama beams. “Come drink with me!”

“No, anija,” Tobirama sighs and closes his eyes as if to pray for patience.

“But we haven’t done a drinking contest in forever.” Hashirama pouts then a rare, mischievous gleam flickers in his eyes. “Or are you scared you’ll lose again?”

Tobirama scowls. “You know very well that was a fluke, anija.”

“That wasn’t what Touka said.”

“Because you conspired with her, I suspect.” Tobirama huffs, brows drawing together in his annoyance.

“Want to prove me wrong, little brother?” Hashirama beams his challenge, something triumphant almost breaking through his innocent mask.

“Fine,” Tobirama hisses and turns. Angry but elegant strides carry him to the center table, his clansmen parting like the river he’d once split in a joint mission he and Madara had as moved closer. Madara knows his eyes are unerringly focused on the table his clansmen are frantically cleaning when they had seen him start to approach, as if paying no mind to anyone else.

Hashirama claps from beside him and stands up to make his way over to the table where his brother is already sternly seated. “Feel free to watch closer, my friend.”

“I think I’ll be fine here.” Madara sips his sake. He’s kind of interested to see how a drunk Tobirama would act. Hashirama _did_ say he’d be more relaxed, now he’ll see for himself. He settles more into his seat to watch.

“HASHIRAMA-SAMA AND TOBIRAMA-SAMA ARE COMPETING!” A random Senju clansman yells, obviously excited as she leans in to see the match closer. “BRING OUT THE LIQUEUR!”

Just like that, a trio of Senju suddenly comes in with entire crates of what Madara rightfully assumes is the liqueur.

What the fuck.

Just how much could they drink?

It looks like this is a rare enough, but highly anticipated, sight that what seems like the entire Senju clan poke their heads in to watch their two most powerful clanmates participate in a drinking contest, whispering and making bets in rapid succession.

Madara raises both brows when it seems the odds are placed almost evenly between both brothers’ favors. Interesting. He sips at his sake again, eyes trained on the pair.

Tobirama and Hashirama sit across from each other, cups arranged at the ready. Madara raises a brow, there are ten of them in each line now, instead of the five each in Touka and Izuna’s contest. Tobirama’s face is set in a stern, challenging glare leveled at his brother, a direct contrast to his brother’s whose face is beaming and cheery.

Madara hums as he relishes in the feeling of the sake sliding down his throat. Both brothers are each holding a filled cup, awaiting the signal to start.

The whispering ceases and the entire room is quiet, everyone’s—except Izuna still facedown on a table beside Hikaku—attention on the brothers seated at the center.

“GO!”

The brothers chug the liquor like water, going through the ten cups in quick succession. The Senju clansmen assigned to refill the cups frantically try to keep up with the brothers’ unrelenting pace.

What the fuck.

How are they not immediately throwing up with how fast they’re drinking?? Do those drinks not burn their throats in the least???

Madara watches, mouth ajar and his cup of sake in his hand forgotten in the face of the spectacle in front of him.

The crowding partygoers cheer both brothers on as they continue going through multiple rounds, the normally calm and controlled Senju clan suddenly as unruly as the Uchiha they had thought barbaric before all of this.

Madara rapidly blinks his eyes, brain still not completely comprehending the reality of the situation. He’d never thought the infamous Senju Demon could drink like a fish, thinking he was far too stuck on being proper and controlled and cold as he always appeared—nevermind the fact that Madara has seen how ridiculously soft he could get with children because _that is not the point—_

Madara sat frozen in his seat as not five, not eight, not eleven bottles, but an entire two crates of liqueur are completely obliterated and the brothers don’t even look halfway sloshed, only faint flushes on their faces, though the color was much more noticeable on the paler one of the pair.

How the fuck.

He is still stupefied when three more crates to replace the original three were brought in while the contest went on.

An absentminded thought went through his mind as he still sat shocked in his seat. The sheer amount of alcohol the brothers put away is probably why this is rare enough to interest the entire Senju Clan; if this happened constantly, Madara’s pretty sure their stores would not survive.

The contest went on, the brothers gradually slowing as the alcohol started affecting them more noticeably, their pace slowing just a smidgeon but still unrelenting.

Finally, finally, it ends. Hashirama flops to the side groaning and Tobirama sits, face almost entirely red, and sways but victorious in that he keeps mostly upright.

The overseer lifts a pale hand. “TOBIRAMA-SAMA WINS!”

The cheering shakes what feels like the entire _compound_.

Madara’s ears are ringing but his eyes don’t leave the victorious Senju’s flushed face that is suddenly pulled into a dopey smile more reminiscent of Hashirama and his periphery still takes in money exchanging hands.

Madara takes note of the family resemblance.

When Tobirama finally pulls his liquefied brother’s body to Madara’s seat, Madara breaks out of his staring to stare dumbly at Hashirama. His brain still can’t seem to process how Hashirama lost to Tobirama when the tree had been someone Madara thought was unable to get drunk.

Then his brain suddenly screeches to a halt when he feels someone slump onto him. Someone with white hair. Someone pale but warm and cozy. Someone whose shifting muscles are killing off whatever braincells he might have had left, Amaterasu save him.

Madara thinks he’s died when the white-haired man— _Tobirama????_ —suddenly pets his hair, running gentle hands through his hair.

“Soft.” Madara feels the breath tickle his neck and the smile stretching on the Senju’s surprisingly plush lips as the inebriated man nuzzles at him.

The Senju is so close to kissing his neck.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t pushed the pale Senju off yet.

Madara’s heart threatens to beat out through his chest, lungs and ribs be damned, when Tobirama nuzzles his neck and breathes him in as his gentle pale hands make small braids in his hair.

He doesn’t know how he hasn’t died from embarrassment. Madara’s willing to tally it up as a miracle at this point, honestly.

Then the Senju suddenly holds Madara’s chin as he pulls away from his neck, and Madara finds himself facing a dopily smiling Tobirama, eyebrows relaxed instead of the usual hard lines of sternness he sees in their shared office.

Then Tobirama laughs softly, another hand patting Madara’s cheek. The usually harsh red lines on his face more gentle with the softer expression. Then the Senju squishes his cheeks, stretching them to amuse him. The pale man laughs louder but his voice remains soft.

…Apparently, a drunk Tobirama is a calmer, but still touchy-feely—even more than his brother honestly—version of his brother.

“Beautiful,” Tobirama says, gentle hands still holding him. Madara feels his face heating.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t yelled him away yet.

Madara’s eyes catch on snowy lashes kissing pale cheeks with every slow blink; the gentle light in red eyes slightly glazed by drink; slight crinkles on the smiling face he’d only seen when Tobirama faced children; enticingly plush lips stretched into a gentle smile; usually straight posture more relaxed than he’s ever seen; lax broad and strong shoulders; the hands holding his cheeks callused but gentle on his face.

He looks into gentle red eyes and realizes.

_Oh._

**Author's Note:**

> the tumblr post of this prompt fill is [here](https://antukini.tumblr.com/post/615936038921224192/prompt-ya-know-people-always-said-how-different)
> 
> ~~fuck kinilig ako dun gago~~
> 
> okay wow that was a cheesier ending than i had planned hskajfnks but i’m satisfied with this
> 
> [tumblr](https://antukini.tumblr.com/)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/antukini)


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